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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728755">comic relief</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rime/pseuds/rime'>rime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, akechi sandwich, or not straight! as it were!, stupid premises played straight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:27:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rime/pseuds/rime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Futaba leaves her doujin lying around. Ren reads it and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>249</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>comic relief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There are two Goro Akechis sitting at the Leblanc counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all other respects, Leblanc looks how it always does. But there are subtle tells if Ren pays attention: waviness at the corners of his vision, indecipherable handwriting on the jars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, at the counter, a much bigger tell. Two seats down: Akechi in a bright blue sweater-vest, observing his surroundings inquisitively, looking almost bashful. Two seats beyond that: Akechi again, smiling and inscrutable, playing with the cuffs of his gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's in the Metaverse, with two cognitions he's summoned for... reasons. Ren swallows. This is not why Igor gave him this power. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Akechis turn to face him. They seem to be waiting for more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. It occurs to him that he probably doesn’t even need to talk. This is the cognitive world, after all. He’s summoned them and their surroundings. He can probably just think what he wants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What does he want? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe they know, even if he doesn’t. The blue-vested one is getting up and walking over to him shyly, steps tentative like a baby fawn’s. This is the Akechi he’d seen around Kichijoji those early summer months, idly checking his phone, looking altogether too innocent to plot a murder, let alone several. He looks up at Ren and blinks through large eyelashes which accentuate his naivete. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amamiya-kun,” he murmurs, looking painfully sincere for an Akechi. “Thank you very much for inviting me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” says Ren. “Oh. Right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Akechi’s voice is catching. This Akechi’s voice, anyway. A blush is creeping over his cheeks. In the cognitive world, guess this one really is innocent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is kind of weird, thinks Ren.  The other one, the Detective Prince… he’s just sitting there, watching through steepled fingers. But it’s kind of hot. Is it? At this point it’s impossible to tell how much of the situation he’s controlling, and it feels a bit late to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to kiss you,” admits this Akechi, looking at him fiercely, with golden eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi kisses him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s shy and sweet and nothing like he expects. It’s inexperienced. This Akechi… Ren recalls his own initial impressions faintly. It had been a short-lived fantasy, but he had vaguely liked Akechi even when he’d believed him to be someone he wasn’t at all, someone who ironed his shirts at the crack of dawn and told bad jokes. And that’s who this Akechi is, this boy flushed pink to his ears as he kisses Ren hesitantly, pressing their lips together with only a hint of tongue. Ren wants more. He growls and pulls him into it, invading his mouth with tongue and bite and heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi gasps. “Amamiya-kun --” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush,” Ren says, and he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now they’re back to kissing. Akechi -- this Akechi -- seems content to let him take the lead, gasping as Ren nips and trails kisses down his jaw and collarbone. Ren’s just winging it but it seems to be working. Before long Akechi is whining in his throat and pawing gracelessly at his clothes. It’s cute. Ren tosses aside his blazer and grabs him by the collar before mashing him into the wall, pressing up against him nice and slow, and grinding </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would have sworn he’d never pictured messing up a bashful Akechi before. He doesn’t even perceive him like this anymore to begin with</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But the Metaverse doesn’t lie, and bashful Akechi is here, and having him under him is doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I,” Akechi manages. He’s panting and trembling. Ren could kiss him again. “Amamiya-kun. Let me --” He can’t move very well, trapped against the wall, but he gets his point across by reaching ineffectually for Ren’s pants, fingers catching against the waistline of his belt and the fabric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren swallows. He knows where this is going. “Let you what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make you feel good,” Akechi murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren can’t say no to that. He fumbles for his belt buckle and boxers, hoping his fingers aren’t shaking. If they are, Akechi doesn’t notice. There’s a hunger in his eyes altogether unlike any hunger Ren’s seen on him before. A hunger to please. That’s the last thing he thinks before Akechi’s taken him into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ren hisses, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Akechi hums. That, too, sends a jolt of pleasure straight down his spine. </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This Akechi doesn’t seem particularly experienced at this either, which makes sense. It’s astonishing how fuck-all that matters. If anything, the sloppiness of it adds to the appeal. Ren forces his eyes open, the better to look down, and the sight alone is enough to pitch him dangerously close to coming: Akechi moaning around his length, determined, strands of hair clinging to his face -- fuck, he wants to possess him, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>besmirch</span>
  </em>
  <span> him; if he could come all over him, that’d be -- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having fun, Amamiya-kun?” says a familiar voice, one Ren barely has time to process before two gloved fingers cram themselves into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Detective Prince -- the one who’d been watching -- isn’t watching anymore. Somehow he’s stood up and magicked himself over, probably while Ren was busy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fantasizing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and suddenly he’s pressed up flush against Ren and rocking into his backside, only the slightest increase of breath to indicate anything on his part other than indifference. His fingers press into Ren’s mouth and against his tongue, uncomfortable and unmistakably deliberate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, this is definitely the one he’d wanted in October. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps you wanted... that... in June,” this faux-pleasant Akechi says, looking at the eager-to-please version of himself so loudly and actively sucking Ren off. There’s no tone of accusation, only observation. He pushes his fingers further, moves them in and out gently, with suggestion. “But that wasn’t what you wanted in October, was it? Be honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why does he have to be honest with his own cognition? Shouldn’t it just know? Also, he can’t really answer that with these stupid fingers -- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi narrows his eyes. Then he jams his fingers further down Ren’s mouth, enough to make him gag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren gets a clue. He starts to suck. From the hitch of breath he hears, this Akechi’s quite pleased with that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” he says, and for all the pleasantness in his voice, there’s something rough and animalistic there that shoots straight to Ren’s dick. “You wanted this. Even when you suspected me of plotting your death. Twisted, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chooses to respond by licking circles around Akechi’s gloved fingers, very pointedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really are something,” Akechi says, voice marvelling and rougher still. “Let’s try this.” Then he takes his heel and simply presses it against his doppleganger’s torso until the other boy is pushed off Ren’s cock, mouth making a wet </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he does. He looks so disheveled. Ren’s gut coils at the sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly there’s nothing in his mouth anymore, because Akechi -- the cruel Akechi -- has removed his hand and is stroking him off, his own spit softening the friction, as blue-vested Akechi sits back on his knees, looking up with dazed, expectant eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” Ren gasps, strangled. “That’s -- “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to, don’t you?” Akechi says, voice soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Does</span>
  </em>
  <span> he want to? He’s never thought about it -- but now that he is -- it’s so hard to think now, with Akechi’s hand on him slick with spit, stroking just right -- does he even have a choice? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long. Akechi’s hands are deft. A steady buildup, a crescendo, the sounds of his own stifled panting -- and then he’s coming in ropes on the sweater-vest, on Akechi’s face, painting him in stripes of white as the other one hisses with pleasure. He thinks he should find it disgusting but then vested Akechi laps it up like a dog, and just as eagerly, which twists his gut all over again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’d really be fine with just that, but -- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That looked fun,” the other Akechi says, smooth as silk in his ear, “but we’re not done just yet, are we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly he’s been pulled up into Akechi's lap, and they’re kissing. They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> kissing him. He doesn’t know where to focus his attention: the blue one kissing him aimlessly with sloppy vigor, the intense one biting just hard enough to bruise, both of them paying attention to him like nothing else exists in the world. Ren can’t endure all this sensation. This is too much, too intense, he needs to catch his breath -- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole thing vanishes then, abruptly, like an extinguished flame. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Futaba’s fault. Of that he’s certain. She’d waltzed in one morning nose-deep in one of her comics, and Ren, in the middle of heaping breakfast curry on her plate, had made the mistake of asking about it. He’d caught a glimpse of the cover, which had roused his interest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a doujin!” Futaba wails, in her peculiar blend of shame and shamelessness. “Do I really have to explain?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to weasel her way out of it, but eventually describes the premise in the vaguest terms. Something about a sandwich. He tries his best to look disinterested, which doesn’t work, probably because he keeps pressing for details. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, do you just want to borrow it?” Futaba finally asks, impatiently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says no while meaning yes, which turns out not to matter, because it falls out of her backpack when she sprints from the cafe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he looks at it. A black-haired boy, staring at the viewer, a vacant expression on his face; two light-haired boys around him, in varied states of undress. Yang and yin and yang. Ren swallows, and opens the cover, and devours the whole thing in twenty breakneck minutes, and spends a very sleepless night tossing in bed after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s steamy. He can see why Futaba likes it. But it’s not just that. Ren’s fine with pretty fictional boys. He’s less fine with the realization that the slender fingers and sharp angles of the light-haired pair remind him very strongly of Goro Akechi. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t say he’s ever been attracted to Akechi -- but he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> if the dream he had last night was any indication. Ren groans and splashes his face in the bathroom sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How did this happen?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi isn’t exactly available. He isn’t someone Ren can even imagine himself on a date with, let alone anything more. Maybe if he didn’t know him half as well as he does. It’s pretty easy to imagine the picture-perfect Detective Prince going on a date with some nameless, faceless idol at the top of Tokyo Skytree, wielding his charm precisely as a blade. Bring the Akechi he knows into the picture, though, and the scene transforms into having his own weaknesses described to him in vivid detail at the jazz club. Not exactly high romance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of this matters, for several reasons. The most salient reason of all is that, with Maruki’s heart to change and a deadline looming weeks away, thinking about this would be actively irresponsible. A compelling, strangely reassuring runner-up is that Akechi has no interest in him. Akechi hates him, or says he does. He comes to Leblanc a bit too often for Ren to really buy it, but, you know, believe what people tell you about themselves, or something? There’s also the murder thing, but to be honest, that doesn’t bother Ren as much as it should. And after he sees him in action in Maruki’s palace it bothers him in a completely different way, which is genuinely embarrassing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s never thought of himself as horny, but between unhinged Crow in his blood-spattered suit and whatever he’d made the mistake of reading last week, seems like it’s never too late to start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And</span>
  <span> what a fucking start </span>
  <span>it</span>
  <span> is. Every night dizzying images assail him the moment he closes his eyes: Akechi on his knees below him, dragging ragged moans from him as he licks dutiful stripes with his tongue. Akechi’s grin above him, smashing his face into a bloodied counter as he works him open roughly, fucks him with three fingers of a gloved hand. Akechi -- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no respite. Coffee makes it worse, exercise makes it worse, being alone with his thoughts </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> makes it worse. He can’t even flush these feelings from his system at the bathhouse, a formerly calming ritual, because now it just reminds him of coming here with Akechi, listening to his voice echo off the tiles as he talked about his tragic life or whatever would lull Ren most into complacency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should remind him of that. It actually reminds him of the way droplets had trickled down Akechi’s collarbone in wandering little rivulets, all the way back in August. Which makes him think perhaps he hasn’t been entirely honest with himself about when this attraction began? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning the tap to scalding doesn’t fix anything. Ren gets out early and takes a cold shower instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there’s the doujin. Ren’s reread it enough times to memorize what passes for its plot. The crucial point is that there are two copies of the protagonist’s boyfriend, one sweet and one surly, both of whom want to fuck the daylights out of him. And they do. It’s a lot. On his sixth reread he decides that enough is enough and stashes it as far away from his treacherous nightstand as he can, downstairs on the counter by the spice jars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It prevents him from reading it at night, but not from thinking about it. The Akechi he’d met in June, seeming innocent. The one he’d come to know over the months that followed, at times thoughtful and vulnerable, at others inscrutable, menacing. It’s not hard to imagine doing things to them, having things done to him in turn. Ren buries his face in the pillow in silent protest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crow in that ridiculous princely outfit with the epaulets. The other Crow. And, of course, the real Akechi, the one he knows now, sharp-eyed and surly, out of patience. The one he likes best. He’s known at least five Akechis, then, but it strikes him as ambitious to include that many in whatever scenarios he conjures in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, no, he isn’t conjuring anything. He’s not thinking about this. He’s going to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren closes his eyes and manages to lie there for fifteen whole minutes before pulling down his boxers and gritting his teeth.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end he shouldn’t be surprised when it comes to him late one moonless night, a lunatic idea with the ring of promise in it. The Metaverse. The cognitive world. Cognitions aren’t real, but they look it. He could kiss Akechi, in the cognitive world, and no one would be the wiser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could fuck Akechi -- a cognition of him, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems decidedly unkosher. Is it any better if the cognition fucks him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren rubs his eyes. This is insane. He’s going to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It snipes him then, on the verge of unconsciousness: he could kiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> Akechis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t sleep after that. Thank </span>
  <span>God</span>
  <span> Morgana’s not around. With fumbling thumbs he punches something absurd into the Metaverse Navigator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then -- </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s how he got into this mess, and he’s got no idea how he’s getting out of it. Ren swallows.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It</span>
  <span> had been a lot of firsts for him. First kiss with a cognition. First kiss in a while, if he’s being honest. He’d meant to go further, too, but -- but he’d gotten overwhelmed, or something, and the whole thing had collapsed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s for the best. He’s fucking tired. He’s going to collapse too, and hopefully something’s clearer in the morning, though he’s not sure what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had felt pretty damn good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes it were the real Akechi. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Morning comes, and with it the particular rush of remembering one’s mistakes from the right before. Ren’s head is full of drumming. He hoists himself out of bed, sways downstairs, and slouches toward the counter like a man possessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs to clear his head, and a hot mug of coffee should do the trick. His fingers are shaking too much to hold the cup in its saucer, though, and he splashes himself with the stuff, very predictably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren takes a deep breath. He gets a clue and goes outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s freezing, which is exactly what he needs. From the thinness of the sunlight, it’s barely past ten. The alleyway outside Leblanc is deserted; a handful of dead leaves breeze through. Ren starts to walk. A couple minutes of suffering in these flimsy pajamas should wake him up enough to stop doing whatever he’s doing. Replaying the night in his mind. The night with Akechi. Two Akechis. God, why had he done that? Why had it </span>
  <em>
    <span>worked?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Why had it been so hot? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter, Ren reminds himself. At all. In thirteen days Maruki is going to rewrite reality with his own cognition if the Thieves can’t pull off their final heist. Ren needs to be prepared. He should be shopping for hyper-realistic model guns, or picking up medicine from the clinic, or something. He shouldn’t be fucking around. He should be -- </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thud.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> a voice hisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren knows that voice. He’s heard it very recently, when he heard it twice -- and oh, shit, he’s literally run into Akechi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi’s arms are folded across his chest, gloves tucked into them to protect from the cold. His breath is condensing in the air, in little puffs. He’s misbuttoned his peacoat; it hangs strangely askew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Ren didn’t know better, he’d say he looked flustered. But then Akechi’s eyes narrow, and if he’s flustered, it’s in a very irritated way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch where you’re going,” Akechi snarls. He gives Ren a quick once-over, clearly unimpressed by his decision to wear sleepwear outside. “Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you going? Dressed like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about it. “Around the block.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you trying to freeze to death?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> going?” Ren asks, because he’s curious, and if Akechi is on this street at this hour there can be really only one answer to this, one it’ll be fun to make him say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi doesn’t turn around. “Figure it out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He already has, but sure. Ren lets him walk up the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re no fun,” he says, once Akechi is solidly some twenty paces ahead, far enough away that he won’t be able to hear him over the wind. Then he tags behind him back to Leblanc, the better to make him breakfast curry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the morning air hadn’t cleared his mind, running into Akechi definitely had. Ren pulls last night’s leftover curry from the fridge and stares at it. He places the pot on the stove and watches the gas flame flicker to life at a gentle heat. On a whim, he grates a bit of extra apple into it while Akechi isn’t looking; he probably likes it sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi comes here for breakfast often, this month. He never says why. “No reason,” he’d drawled once, when Ren had asked him, and that was fair enough, because it was easy to guess. Everything irritated Akechi, and Leblanc was the one beacon of normalcy in this too-perfect shell of a world, so of course he’d want to spend as much time here as he could. The opportunity to spite Ren is probably a plus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ire’s reserved for Ren’s personality and not the curry, though. He’s always pretty nice about the curry. Akechi chews thoughtfully on this morning’s bite. Swallows. “This isn’t bad,” he says, which is him-speak for </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “It’s sweet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like that?” says Ren, strangely nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s tolerable,” Akechi says vaguely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tolerable, sure. Ordinarily Ren would sass him back to get a rise out of him, but something seems different about Akechi today. He’s seemed out of it all morning, though it could be Ren’s imagination. Actually, there’s no mistake. Akechi is frowning, pushing curry around his plate with an idle spoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi never leaves his curry half-finished. He could really hate apples. Or it could be something else. Ren doesn’t think Akechi hates apples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spoon stops scraping. Akechi glances at him. “Come again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come off it. Something’s on your mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you perceptive,” says Akechi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes absolutely no effort to fill in Ren on what it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This guy is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>difficult.</span>
  </em>
  <span> What is he thinking? Ren’s willing to bet it’s something stupid, something he wouldn’t have a problem telling anyone else, and he’s making things difficult just because it’s Ren who asked. He opens his mouth to tell him such, and then stops, because Akechi is looking at the books on the counter, curiously reaching for </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Why is it even on the counter? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch that,” Ren says, hoping he sounds normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi raises an eyebrow. His fingers are inches from it. “Oh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not mine,” Ren says. This is no explanation at all for why he shouldn’t touch it. “It’s -- Futaba’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure she won’t mind,” Akechi says. His fingers keep moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren isn’t sure what happens next. One moment he’s stirring honey into a gently simmering pot; the next he’s teleported to the counter, slapping away Akechi’s gloved hand. It’s not a slap, though. He’s just... grabbed Akechi’s wrist, and maneuvered it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi’s wrist is not gloved. It’s warm. Under the gloves and the coat, Akechi’s really warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The suddenness of the contact gives neither of them time to react. For what feels like an eternity he’s just there, stupidly thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- and then it’s over, and they both spring away. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oops,</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinks Ren. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi looks like a spitting cat. “Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Ren says. “Accident.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi’s still staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You started it,” Ren adds, helpfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This disgusts Akechi enough to break the stare, which is a relief. He goes back to playing with his food, muttering profanities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It could be the light, but a dusty pink is beginning to spread over his features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They regain some faint semblance of conversational equilibrium after that, though it’s stilted. Akechi manages to finish his food, which is a good sign. He’s scraped the plate clean, in his well-mannered way. Ren was right about the apples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi is still glancing around strangely, though, when he thinks Ren isn’t looking. Like a spooked animal, or someone with something to hide. Some of those glances really feel like they’re landing on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s making him curious -- a curiosity that intensifies as Akechi gets up to leave, bundles his scarf, and heads for the door. Ren slinks out from behind the counter and leans on the potted fern by the doorframe, where Akechi can’t avoid him. Stretches languidly, to spite him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re still out of it,” he says. “What’s gotten into you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Akechi doesn’t even really look at him in response. He just sort of… gazes off to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired,” he snaps. He’s got one foot out the door, one hand on the doorknob. Morning air pours through the gap in the doorframe as he fidgets. “If you must know, I slept poorly. It’s none of your concern.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes sense, Ren thinks. Akechi seems genuinely tired. Ren means to say something light in response, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried about Maruki?</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>are you a light sleeper?</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>haha, need a massage?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you dream about me?” his mouth supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time that morning, Akechi actually stares at him. His gaze is wild. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren blinks, like an owl. He hadn’t meant to say that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about how he’s going to salvage this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi’s still got his hand on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing’s going to salvage this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren literally pushes him out the door and bolts shut the cafe. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the day passes without incident, as much as it can. Ren does his laundry. He starts the next day’s batch of curry. He whiles away time on his phone. He dozes off. He thinks he does a pretty good job not thinking about the morning until late that night, when he’s lying alone in bed and can’t really avoid it anymore. </span>
</p><p><span>He’s already apologized to Akechi over text, as believably as he can.</span><em><span> sorry if i was being weird.</span></em> <em><span>slept badly myself.</span></em><span> Akechi hasn’t responded, but the read receipt is good enough: if he were mad he wouldn’t open it at all. That’s what Ren’s telling himself, anyway. Texts are weird. </span></p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, his phone lights up with the worst possible message:</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>did u show my doujin to goro akechi??????????????????????</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren groans and buries his face in the duvet. Maybe he can play dumb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>do not play dumb, </span>
  </em>
  <span>responds Futaba immediately. She sounds like Alibaba. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren thinks about it. He tells her the truth about what happened, mostly. He leaves out the wrist thing, and also the part where he read her book, like, eight times.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>but why didnt you tell me it fell out of my bag??</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>guess it slipped my mind</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>so you just left it on the counter of leblanc????? sojiro has CUSTOMERS</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>nobody ever looks at those books, though</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>tell that to akechi e___e get him out of my dms</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought of messaging Akechi about this makes him shudder. Maybe not in an entirely unpleasant way, though. Ren buries his face in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sort of wishes someone like Ryuji were here to tell him off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Akechi?! Dude, get a grip!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Or maybe Ann, dismayed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously, Akechi-kun?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The worst part is that he knows them too well, and the little sentences he’s scripted for them in his head are morphing into more forgiving ones. Ryuji, exasperated: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever makes you happy, dude. Can’t say I like him, but I trust your judgment… kinda.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ann, mulling it over: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, he is very pretty. And you do have something going on between you. Even I’ve noticed that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The Ann of his mind winks at him, knowing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just be careful, okay? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t imagine Ann summoning a couple of cognitions and going to town in the Metaverse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can imagine himself doing that, though. He already has, and he’d do it again. Because he didn’t finish what he started, did he? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d just be lying to himself if he doesn’t admit it. He wants Akechi to fuck him and he’s not going to get it from the real thing. If everything goes well, the Metaverse will collapse, irreparably, in two short weeks. This is his only chance. Cognitive doubles aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>real, </span>
  </em>
  <span>no harm’s being done, and if there’s an extra Akechi, well, that’s just a plus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Look at him cajoling himself like he’s a Shadow and this is a negotiation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren grits his teeth, eggs himself on, opens the Nav once more. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beginning navigation: </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>When the distortion settles he’s still in Leblanc. Not the real Leblanc, though. Now his room is strangely wavery, as if compelling him to leave it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On wobbly feet, Ren walks downstairs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine. This is fine. You did this before. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He did this before, and it wasn’t a problem, and it won’t be a problem this time, and what does he even </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> from this? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Akechis are there again. Sweater-vest boy at the counter, looking nowhere. The Detective Prince two seats away, playing with his gloves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” says Ren, to neither of them in particular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of their gazes snap to him at once. It’s enough to make him flinch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t move, though. Not this time. It’s like they’re waiting for something. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ren breathes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Think.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yesterday was good, but unplanned, and the cognitions had just kind of done whatever, which had, again, been good, but he can do better. He concentrates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, October’s Akechi gets up and approaches him. He doesn’t stop until he’s much too close, surveying Ren with a carefully blank expression. He reaches out with a gloved hand and lets his fingers trail slowly across Ren’s jaw, a pretense of tenderness that only falters when he grabs him by the chin and tilts up, hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever he sees in Ren’s eyes, it seems to please him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good,” Akechi murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren exhales, as quietly as he can. Akechi’s eyes flicker, with interest. The hand trails down, lightly, to his neck; a thumb rests against his throat and presses, at first mildly, then enough to bruise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Choking’s all well and good, but -- not today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi looks at him. “Not today,” he says, quietly, as if considering it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re my cognition,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ren thinks, rather boldly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t get a say.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi’s eyes narrow at that. “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it spurs him on. He pushes Ren into the hard wood of the counter. He doesn’t kiss him; nothing about this Akechi suggests that he would. Instead he shoves him roughly into the other Akechi, the one Ren’s forgotten about, whose eyes are wide as teacups at this point. He’s trembling all over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s almost annoying how innocent that one is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree,” says Akechi. For a moment, distaste dances behind his pleasant expression -- until it’s gone just as quickly, swept away by television-ready charm. “But he has his uses. You should know that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amamiya-kun,” the other Akechi says, uncertain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi takes his double’s hands and moves them, with surprising tenderness, around Ren’s wrists. He wastes no time in running a hand up Ren’s turtleneck, stopping to flick a thumb over his nipple. It’s unbearable even through the gloved contact; when Ren’s hips jerk instinctively, Akechi does it again. His other hand forces itself under his belt buckle and starts stroking him off in earnest. Innocent Akechi is doing his best, too, holding his wrists down with surprising firmness; he’s pressing sloppy kisses to Ren’s neck and jaw, pupils blown wide. The juxtaposition between his inexperience and the other one’s cruelty is unbearable in itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren can’t think anymore. It’s enough to let sensation wash over him, to listen to the little gasps and noises spilling out of him as if he wasn’t there, as seconds or hours or minutes pass and he’s fucked within an inch of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, though, he dimly registers that there’s a third Akechi now, winter Akechi, looking on with his severe expression. That’s kind of weird. He doesn’t think he summoned that one, at least not intentionally. It seems right, though: he does want that Akechi most of all, so it makes sense to show up here. You know, cognitive stuff.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winter Akechi doesn’t seem to be doing anything, though. He’s just watching the three of them, a strange expression on his face. It’s an expression that Ren has never seen before. Like irritation, but want-ier? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have time to think about it before Akechi pulls out a</span>
  <em>
    <span> gun</span>
  </em>
  <span> from his pocket. Ren gapes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi raises the gun, very evenly, and fires twice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t miss. Both cognitions stop for a moment and flicker, startled, before disintegrating into shadowy wisps, just like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” Ren says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winter Akechi strides up to him then, eyes wild, and grabs him by the collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t really feel like a cognition. He feels a fair bit realer than that. Ren doesn’t think a cognition could look like it was going to kill him so convincingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kiss me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, stupidly, at this Akechi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you doing?” Akechi hisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Ren says, eloquently. Rubs the back of his neck. He’s doing a really good job of not looking at Akechi, given that he’s glowering inches from his face. “How did you even…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your little </span>
  <em>
    <span>clue,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Akechi says, in a voice that would be disdainful if it weren’t irate</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “From earlier. Remember what you said?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I say a lot of things?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi practically throws him across the room. Ren staggers several feet, barely catching himself on the handle of the bathroom door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Did you dream about me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Akechi repeats, in an unmistakable imitation of Ren’s voice. He’s kicked the whine up several notches, though. At least Ren doesn’t think he sounds like that. </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Did you really think you were subtle?” His gaze flits around Leblanc like he’s making sure no one’s around. So that there are no witnesses to Ren’s imminent murder, probably. Deja vu. “And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> dream about you, Joker. Vividly, in fact. So vividly it hardly seemed a dream at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren swallows. “But how did you…” He has a million questions. “Get here? Know what you saw?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really are naive. You think you’re the only one who thinks of anything, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren struggles to process this, until he doesn’t. “Hold on. Did you just -- you’ve done this too?” Akechi looks at him. “Summon a couple of cognitions and…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi looks annoyed. “I didn’t say that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You totally just did,” says Ren, baffled. “That’s what you said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid as well as naive, then,” Akechi says, looking at nothing. “Any idiot would naturally understand the Metaverse could be used this way. In any case, I’m not so stupid as you. Presented with such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>deliberate</span>
  </em>
  <span> image, it was obvious to me what likely caused it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s rather pointedly turned away from Ren, intently examining various countertop jars. “And then with your little stunt at breakfast I was even more sure. I had only to come here tonight to confirm what I saw.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could have been a dream,” Ren croaks, as a last line of defense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t dream,” says Akechi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s not much Ren can say to that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment of silence stretches between them, even more awkward than the morning’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren’s legs feel shaky. Whether from nerves or adrenaline or tiredness, he can’t say. But being propped against the bathroom door isn’t really working for him; he launches off it and totters to a booth, collapsing on its surface for a moment to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looks up Akechi is still standing by the counter, gaze impassive. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That coat and scarf look good on him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ren thinks uselessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says instead. “Nice job, detective. You got what you came for, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi looks at him. His head tilts, not unlike a bird’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I came for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You solved your case,” Ren says. “And humiliated me, and all that. You know. What you’re normally into.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi looks incredulous. “You think I’d come here just to humiliate you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t you?” Ren says. “Didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi takes a deep breath. He opens his mouth, and closes it. Then he does it again. This might be the first time Ren’s ever seen him at a loss for words. On the third try he seems to give up, and his mouth practically snaps shut, like a door on hinges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seems to be thinking. Ren’s not sure what about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi carefully removes his winter coat, hanging it on a stool. The scarf is next to go, tucked and folded neatly on the coat; next, the ever-present gloves, tossed atop the scarf without fanfare. He runs his fingers through his hair once, without noticing. He looks strangely barren now, like a shorn lamb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow this entire attire-removing spectacle hasn’t made anything click in Ren’s mind. Only once Akechi strides over and shoves him into the booth does the thought form in Ren’s mind, much too late, that he really is naive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kissing Akechi is not like kissing a cognition. After all, cognitions will do your bidding without question; even without explicit instruction, yesterday’s had done what he wanted, indulging his every unspoken whim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The real Akechi isn’t like that at all. He holds Ren fast by the back of his neck, crashes their mouths together in a blur of heat and tongue and want</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s selfish and demanding. It’s much more like Akechi than anything he’s felt tonight so far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the moments pass, though, the kiss morphs into something gentler and more languid, almost exploratory. It’s making Ren’s thoughts spin. A slow heat begins to radiate through him from where their mouths meet, slowly suffusing his body and making a spark uncoil in his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s losing himself in the sensation of it, and it’s apparent Akechi is, too; when they finally pull apart he’s flushed and panting, lips slightly parted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t imagine what that did to me, Joker,” Akechi says. His voice is low and rough and riddled with irritation but Ren feels like he could listen to it forever. “Imagining you for months under me, like this, and then seeing you with </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- knowing that you preferred those </span>
  <em>
    <span>pathetic imitations </span>
  </em>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>prefer</span>
  </em>
  <span> them --” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bark of laughter. “You won’t, after this,” Akechi says, voice dark and full of promise. He’s having a hard time tugging Ren’s cotton shirt off; with a grimace and a frown of concentration, it peels itself from his skin, as if by magic. His other clothes, too, seem strangely eager to shuffle off him, practically dragging themselves down his hips. Right: they’re in the Metaverse. Akechi frowns once more, and the geometry of the booth warps around them so it’s more comfortable and less cramped, nearly futon-like, all the better for Akechi to swiftly pin his wrists and push him down -- wait a minute -- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve done this before,” Ren accuses, between gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hardly,” Akechi says, but the tinge of pink in his cheeks tells Ren he’s onto something. He makes a note to grill Akechi on it -- when? This whole thing is already a fever dream of the highest order and there’s no </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> Akechi will be down to debrief, ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After February, Ren decides. Somewhere private. He’ll make fun of him then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now it’s enough to counter. Ren scrunches his eyes and Akechi's tie undoes itself, wriggling off his shirt without protest. The buttons of his shirt follow, coming undone. It startles Akechi nicely, giving Ren the opening he needs to lunge up and grab him by the collar, pulling him down and kissing him sloppily. There’s only a moment of hesitation before Akechi melts into it, pressing his body flush against Ren’s own; when Ren rocks up experimentally, he shudders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi regains his composure quickly, though. Next he’s shifting himself down the booth, undoing his own slacks and tapping out the contents of a tiny bottle into his hand, slathering his fingers with -- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>lube?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ren demands.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the cognitive world, Joker,” Akechi says. He means to sound flippant, but his voice is unmistakably strained. “You can summon -- whatever you’d like. Shouldn’t you know that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I,” Ren starts, and then fails to finish his sentence, because Akechi is leaning back like he’s not there at all, fucking himself open on his fingers, bitten-back sighs and hitches of breath escaping him. He just stares, eyes huge, forgetting himself for god knows how long, until Akechi’s tiny noise of frustration jolts him back into himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you waiting for?” Akechi practically snarls. “Hurry up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never done this before,” Ren blurts helplessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems like the wrong thing to say, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he’d sort of rather Akechi know, rather he not mistake him for some kind of experienced person he’s not? But, no. Akechi’s raising an eyebrow at him. It would look properly disdainful if he weren’t flushed, and panting, and squirming on his own fingers in a way that’s impossible to ignore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that,” he snaps. He’s very faintly flushed. “It’s you. Why would it matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren blinks slowly, like a cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi doesn’t want just anyone to fuck him. The realization floods him and makes something shudder to life within him, in a heady rush. Akechi wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Him, specifically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re still in the Metaverse -- and suddenly Ren feels less like himself, and more like Joker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi sees it too. His breath hitches, his hand stills beneath him for the moment -- and then Ren lunges up roughly, crashing into him and stumbling several steps forward, dragging him by the back of his collar and throwing him face-first onto Leblanc’s counter. Akechi gasps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he fights back. He pulls one of the tall high-backed chairs from under the counter, shoves Ren into it forcefully, and straddles his lap. It breaks the spell, and Ren remembers himself, almost sheepishly. Akechi scoots forward, maneuvering them both, aligning himself as best he can against Ren’s straining cock. Finally he finds an angle that seems to suit him and presses down once, tentative, before sinking with a hum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ren hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi closes his eyes. His breath is coming in quick uneven gasps. Ren is seized by the simultaneous urge to kiss him and to absolutely defile him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an easy choice. Akechi’s voice cracks as Ren growls and hoists him by the waist, slamming him down on his cock. “Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>just like that --” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels so good. Ren’s never done this before, but instinct’s taken over; he’s fucking up into him mindlessly, into that hot, wet heat, and judging from the noises Akechi’s making it seems to be working. Akechi’s eyes flutter as he rides him, half-sounds spilling from his mouth, so wild in his movements Ren finds himself hoping the chair will hold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At length the noises resolve into a sentence, though, one Ren almost mishears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” hisses Akechi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren actually stops moving. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Akechi hisses, clearly irritated. “Keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Undeterred, Ren rolls his hips, which shuts Akechi up immediately. His brain’s catching up to his ears. “You mean… than the cognitions</span>
  <em>
    <span>?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Puts two and two together. “Hold on -- were you </span>
  <em>
    <span>jealous?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had to watch you,” Akechi hisses. His voice is almost deranged. It makes heat gutter in Ren’s core. “With </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I couldn’t look away. You were so -- pathetic, mewling beneath them -- ” He stutters as he rocks into Ren’s movements, gasping for breath whenever Ren hits that bright spot within him that makes everything twist. “I hated -- nothing like me -- couldn’t stand the sight --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never wanted them,” Ren gasps. “I wanted you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's the truth. He's not sure if it's helping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t --” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were just -- substitutes -- should have just, I’m sorry -- ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-- don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>lie</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not lying,” Ren says, strangled. “You’re better. I mean… you’re real.” And because words seem hopelessly inadequate, he pulls him in for a hard, bruising kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It works better than words. Akechi sighs when he pulls away, a wisp of a noise that does something to Ren's chest. Then he buries his face in the crook of Ren’s neck and bites. It’s both aggressive and strangely intimate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t keep emotion out of anything,” he says hoarsely. “Shut up and move.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t talk after that. Not when it feels like something has been reached between them, some important understanding. All that’s left for them is to speak through touch; to move against each other, slow and urgent; to press themselves together as their motions become frantic and unravelled, until Akechi finally digs his nails into Ren’s shoulders, hopelessly convulses, loses himself with a cry.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>At eight-thirty in the morning, Leblanc's door chime jingles, and Sojiro Sakura steps through the entryway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost immediately, Sojiro frowns. He'd come here to prepare curry, but -- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-- from the smells and sounds of it, someone's already doing that for him. Even from the door he can hear liquid bubbling at a low simmer, smell the familiar spice mix wafting from the kitchen: cumin, coriander, cardamom. The kettle's boiling, too. Someone should really turn that off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sojiro walks over to the stove to do the honors. He expects to see Ren there. He’s not expecting who he finds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Akechi?" Sojiro says, genuinely surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's the detective kid. The one who... Sojiro frowns, thinks he should remember something he doesn't. He'll ask Ren another time. The kid's not wearing his coat or scarf. He looks uncommonly rumpled. "What are you doing here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi doesn't say anything. Ren's head takes the opportunity to peer out from the pantry door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sojiro? You're here early."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So is he." Sojiro glances between them. "Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wanted to learn about curry," Ren says, with perfect equanimity. "Came by early to help me make it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi still doesn't say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd been interested in coffee preparation before, Sojiro supposes. It's natural enough for such a refined boy to take an interest in curry as well. And the curry does smell different, now that Ren's mentioned it. Sweeter, with a mellow profile. Sojiro walks over to the stovetop and looks into the vat quizzically. He dips a finger, licks it clean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This isn't bad," he says. "What did you two add?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lavender honey, from a little forgotten jar they'd found at the back of the pantry. Apples, too. A bit of grated sweet potato. Unsweetened chocolate for balance. Ren does the talking; Akechi stares at the ceiling while he talks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seems harmless enough. It's odd he's here so early, but Sojiro really shouldn't complain. He'll take all the extra help he can get. Maybe now there's time for him and Futaba to watch the morning’s Featherman rerun. The thought perks him right up and he straightens, turning to Ren and dusting his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a real professional now, you know," Sojiro says. "Reckon you could even start your own cafe, if you wanted." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He helped," Ren says. "A ton, really."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Sojiro says. "He could help you at your new place, too." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi looks at him sharply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Sojiro's way out an odd sight stops him: a thin comic volume has fallen off the counter, its pages splayed ungainly on the floor. Is it Futaba's? It looks like one of her comics. Sojiro frowns. If it's Futaba's, then he should probably --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't touch that," two voices say, in urgent unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sojiro rubs his head. So it's not Futaba's...?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He won't pretend to understand this one. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Teenagers</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks, and exits the cafe. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>- </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"You could have just told him the truth," Akechi says, crabbily, once Sojiro's gone for good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The truth?" says Ren. "What, about last night?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What? No, of course not." Akechi sounds impossibly exasperated. "You could have said I couldn't sleep, which was true, and that's how I ended up watching you… prepare shop."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But then wouldn't he ask about why you were here to begin with?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi scowls. "It's not like it isn’t obvious. Sojiro's not young. This -- " a look down at his hopelessly creased shirt, the slanted tie -- "isn't exactly subtle."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know," Ren says doubtfully. "I think I lie pretty well."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi snorts at that. "I don't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, cause it takes one to know one."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi elbows him. Ren elbows him back. He elbows him into the fridge; Akechi shoves him into the pantry. It’s too well-stocked for rough-housing. A can of something falls on Ren, who laughs it off breathlessly as they sink to the ground, flailing around bags of flour, jars of beans. Akechi peppers restless kisses down his collarbone. Ren pulls him closer. It’s eight-thirty in the morning; neither want the day to start. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was inspired by <a href="https://twitter.com/ageha_p5/status/1261590263224393729">various</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/_shenhaihua/status/1261641797773623296">fanart</a> and spiraled from there... don't look at me<br/><a href="http://twitter.com/letrasette">twtr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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